Silly Things
by Lady Dudley
Summary: Sherlock was the last person Molly would have suspected of being a hoarder.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Just another idea that was floating around in my head, not too sure about it, but I hope you like it anyway. It might seem a little OOC and I do have a long and involved justification but, in the interests of keeping this short, I will just cite ASiB as precedent :P**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

_**Silly Things**_

"Thank you for coming, Molly," John greeted her with a sad smile as he ushered her inside, "I just…couldn't face it on my own."

Molly gave him a sympathetic smile as she slipped out of her coat, "I understand," she assured him, trying to hide some of her uneasiness by looking around the room.

"I just want to reclaim some of the space," he explained, looking a little uneasy himself, "I can't throw anything out…not yet, but…"

"You don't want to see it all the time," Molly finished for him.

John relaxed and nodded.

"Where should we start?" she asked after a moment, once again looking dubiously around the room.

"I thought…I _hoped_ you wouldn't mind sorting out his bedroom," John said haltingly, "I understand if you don't want to," he continued in a rush, "but I can't face it."

Molly plastered a bright smile on her face, "Of course, no problem," she said with much more confidence than she felt as she started down the hallway.

"Could you also have a quick look in his drawers?" John called after her, "Just to make sure we haven't missed anything important."

"No problem," Molly called back, "please don't be angry," she added to herself as she stepped tentatively across the threshold and entered Sherlock's bedroom.

Overall it was a lot more ordered than she was expecting, although he did seem to have an organising system known only to himself.

She bit her lip nervously as she started to clear up some of the clutter to make space for the things John would be bringing in, silently praying that he wouldn't be too angry when he returned and found his room had been rearranged.

Once she had finished clearing things off the floor, she turned and eyed his desk warily. It would be bad enough invading his privacy if he actually _were_ dead, but knowing that he wasn't made what she was about to do feel downright _wrong_.

Telling herself to keep it together, if for no other reason than to prevent John from finding out the truth, Molly opened the first drawer.

She blinked in surprise, instead of the case notes or other important files she had been expecting (or even, heaven forbid, some hideous experiment) the drawer was full of knickknacks.

Knickknacks that upon closer inspection were an odd assortment of odds and ends – a button, a pen, the handle from a coffee mug, notes written on scraps of paper, a latex glove – yet they were all carefully placed in a box.

Everything except for a mobile phone that had been shoved unceremoniously to the back of the drawer, she pulled her hand back from it as though it burned as she recognised it as the one Sherlock had once x-rayed.

She shut the drawer with a little more force than necessary and moved on to the next one. She frowned as she opened it to reveal a wine glass that had been carefully padded with bubble wrap. Curiously she took it out, wondering why on earth he would keep a wine glass in his desk.

She froze as she caught sight of the lipstick mark on the rim.

Of course, The Woman, it all made sense now.

Molly felt a lump form in her throat and she tried to calm her breathing, telling herself that she was _not_ going to cry.

She started and nearly dropped the glass as John entered the room, carrying a box full of Sherlock's paraphernalia. He frowned as he caught sight of the glass Molly was holding.

"He told me that he didn't know where that went," he commented, setting the box down and coming over to join her. "He actually accused _me_ of losing it due to 'intoxication during the evening's festivities,'" he added, doing a passable impression of Sherlock's superior tone.

"Festivities?" Molly asked absently, trying not to think about the implications of Sherlock having a wine glass with Irene Adler's lipstick on it.

"The Christmas party," John explained, "I _knew_ there was a glass missing," he added, "do you mind?" he asked, gesturing for the glass.

Molly shook her head and wordlessly handed it over, trying to make sense of what John had told her. There was only one Christmas party that he could be referring to and no one else had worn lipstick that evening.

Molly felt the world shift under her feet, Sherlock had saved _her_ wine glass.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock stood in the shadows, waiting until he was certain both Mrs. Hudson and John had gone out. He waited an extra ten minutes to make sure neither of them would double back, before making his way across the street and into 221B.

He stopped in the living room; noting the small changes John had made, the most notable being the absence of all of his possessions.

It had been a calculated risk returning to the flat and for a brief moment Sherlock worried that John might have thrown out the information he was looking for. Fortunately, he knew his friend as well as he'd thought and he found everything he needed in his bedroom.

He was about to leave when he caught sight of his desk, he hesitated and checked his watch. John had only popped out to the shops, but he calculated that he had at least fifteen minutes before he would return.

He could afford the risk.

Opening the first drawer he ran his fingers lightly over the odd assortment of objects, smiling a little at the memories they invoked. All were precious, all had once belonged to _her._

All except for the phone lodged in the back of the drawer, but it too was connected to the moment he'd first realised that Molly Hooper counted. Therefore it had been deemed worth preserving with the other objects, albeit safely locked away in a drawer, both physically and metaphorically.

Like his feelings.

"_We all do silly things."_

He smiled a little at the memory of her words and how oblivious she was to just how _silly_ he had been.

He shut the drawer carefully and opened the second.

And froze.

It was _gone_.

His wine glass – _her_ wine glass – was missing.

He searched the drawer in vain, even checking the third drawer just in case, before whirling around to take in the rest of the room. But it was no use, the glass was gone.

He took a moment to compose himself, this was _exactly_ why the rational side of his mind had objected to the whole thing in the first place. It was _just_ a wine glass and he told himself he was only reacting so violently to its loss because of his situation.

It. Meant. Nothing.

Although that didn't explain the odd twinge in his chest when he saw it freshly washed and sparkling on the dish rack on his way out.


	3. Epilogue

_**Epilogue**_

Molly frowned as she looked under the bed in Sherlock's room to no avail, he _had_ to have taken it.

They never spoke about his penchant for collecting odds and ends, but he was aware that she knew and was no longer quite as surreptitious about it as he had been in the past.

Besides, she found it rather endearing that, even after they had started a relationship, he had continued collecting. However, he usually stuck to small, relatively insignificant items; this time it was almost theft.

"You are such a magpie," Molly muttered, leaving the bedroom and coming into the kitchen, "where is it?" she demanded, with her hands on her hips.

Sherlock looked up from the dissection he was conducting on the kitchen table, "Where's what?" he asked innocently.

"My necklace, it was on the bedside table last night and now it's gone," Molly pursed her lips, "I know you have it. Is it in your drawer?"

Sherlock turned back to the eye he was dissecting, apparently unconcerned, "If you're so certain it's there, why don't you go and look?"

Molly eyed him suspiciously, before turning on her heel and heading off to do just that.

Sherlock waited until he heard her re-enter the bedroom before pulling off his gloves and following her.

Silently making his way down the hallway, he leaned against the doorframe, still undetected, and watched as she pulled out the small box nestled amongst the other bits and pieces in the drawer.

She turned slowly around to face him, the box still unopened in her hand.

"Sherlock?" she asked in a small voice.

He cleared his throat, "I have found myself doing a lot of 'silly things' because of you, Molly Hooper," he told her quietly, "and as this fact appears to have caused me to turn to petty theft," he continued, holding up her necklace, "I thought I should finally do something rational."

He pushed off the doorframe and came to join her in the middle of the room, "I don't want a drawer full of things that remind me of you," he paused, "I just want you."

Molly reminded herself to breathe, "I thought I'd told you that you'd _always_ have me," she said softly.

"I guess we should just make it official then," he murmured, pulling her close.

Molly wrapped her arms around his neck, "I guess so," she whispered with a smile, before standing on her tiptoes and kissing him.

...

**A/N: It occurred to me that I was actually thinking of the Australian magpie, but let's just go with it...**


End file.
